


Serendipity

by Snailsway



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Brettany, Crossdressing, Fluff, Gen, Girl!Brett, Humor, Romance, historically inaccuate, regency au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailsway/pseuds/Snailsway
Summary: Duke Edward is the most eligible bachelor in town, but as a shy and reserved sort of guy, he's entirely unmoved by love until one night, a mysterious violinist comes crashing into his arms.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 29
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fun short series as I continue to muddle through Cityscape (update on that tomorrow :P). Inspired by Bridgerton (is anyone watching? actually i stopped after ep 3). Very little research involved beyond the Austens and Heyers I've read, so don't expect any historical accuracy. Also, Brett is a girl because they need to get married in the end. ^^;

One beautiful morning in 1818, London found itself rocked by scandal. The Honorable Brettany Yang, daughter of the Baron of P---, who was to be presented to the Queen that day for her debut into society, had apparently vanished into thin air.

“Word on the street is that she ran away,” said the Lady Belle, with a low whistle.

The Dowager Duchess of T--- clucked her tongue in disapproval. “She is the one who was shipped to France some years ago and now recently returned, is she not? Can’t trust those French. Probably raised themselves a little tart.”

“Ma _ma_!” Belle laughed. “That’s awful. And here I thought you were interested in introducing her to your darling Edward.”

Lady Chen conveyed an expression of horror. “No, indeed! She’s certainly rumored to be a sprightly little beauty, but the mere daughter of a Baron? For our Duke? She can dream. No, no. There are others far more suitable. Edward, dear, tell me, have you any ladies on your mind yet?”

At the mention of his name, Edward, who had done his best to tune out the gossip, peered up from his copy of _The Times_. With a dull, mournful stare at his sister, he replied, for what felt like the hundredth time, “No, Mother.”

The Dowager Duchess sighed once more.

“Not to worry. We shall find someone, I’m sure. Perhaps even at tonight’s ball.”

“I somehow have my doubts,” muttered Edward under his breath.

With the recent passing of his father, young Edward Chen had become the new Duke of T---, and therefore the most eligible bachelor in London. Further heightening his appeal were his youthful good looks (particularly the soulful brown eyes, and that rare smile he reserved for close friends and family), his renowned intelligence, and his reserved and respectful air, which easily distinguished him from the frivolity that generally characterized men of his age.

Every mother in society had her eyes on him, and every ball found him half-smothered by the flouncy muslin gowns of eager young ladies. Being of a shy disposition, the young Duke found the attention far from exhilarating and yearned to flee. But alas, constrained by customs of society and surveiled by the stern eye of his own mother, he knew that he would be going nowhere until he found a suitable wife and sired an heir.

The ball that evening was no different from the rest. It took but a quarter of an hour before Edward found himself choking on a cloud of feminine perfumes and attacked on all sides by a litany of: _Your Grace, may I present to you—Your Grace, my daughter is a most accomplished – Your Grace, will you be dancing . . ._

Belle, snickering quietly behind her fan, whispered for him to just give in and ask one of the pretty ladies to dance. And while that would, of course, be the easiest solution, his body rebelled and he found that he simply couldn’t--couldn’t allow himself to be passed around like some prize trophy. So in a rare, brief moment when the rabid mothers had their backs turned, he quickly slipped away.

With a few long strides, the young Duke hid himself in the shadows of a quiet corner near the exit (he so itched to escape)—a safe distance from both the cluster of ladies waiting to dance and the crowded refreshment bar. Close by, there was only the quartet that was oblivious to his presence. It was playing a lovely little diddy for the dance. 

Quite lovely, in fact, thought Edward as he slowly allowed himself to relax. He had always had an affinity for music (indeed, could discern notes without the score and was above average at the pianoforte), and he found the performance wonderfully light and airy. The violin, in particular, emitted a delightful, clear tone, its notes skipping off the strings.

It wasn’t often that one encountered such prodigious skill at a mere ball and the Duke, now intrigued, peered over at the performers. He was startled to find that the violinist who played so well appeared to be no more than a mere boy. Sporting a mop of messily-chopped black locks and rounded, soft cheeks, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if that. 

And yet, he was clearly gifted beyond his age on the violin. He must have known it too. He played with his eyes closed, but there flickered at the corner of his lips a confident smirk as his bow struck the string. Edward stared at the boy, unwittingly mesmerized by the way his fingers danced across the wires, until the quartet brought the piece to a close.

Then came the second surprise of the evening. 

With the last notes still fading, the boy finally opened his eyes. He surveyed the crowds with a triumphant smile, until, quite bizarrely, he turned deathly pale. With a few quick words to his companions, he stood abruptly from his chair, shut his violin in its case, and dashed away.

Can he just leave like that, Edward wondered as his gaze followed the boy, who was walking hurriedly, almost blindly, towards the exit, his eyes still trained on whatever it was that had frightened him before.

Before Edward could get out of his way, the boy had collided into him head on.

“ _Oof_.”

Dark eyes peered up at the Duke through long lashes, and slender fingers pressed lightly against his chest. The full, pink lips that had been smirking moments before were now half-parted in surprise. 

Edward faltered for a moment—just a split second—as he stared at the boy in his arms. “G-good evening,” he stammered.

The boy’s brows furrowed together in confusion. He pushed Edward away impatiently. “There’s no time. He’s seen me. Do you know a quick way out?”

The Duke, taken aback by the boy’s brash manner, offered a hesitant, “Why—well, yes, I believe through the French windows, one might—”

“Then let us go at once!”

And with that, before anyone quite took notice, the boy had taken the Duke’s arm and tugged him out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward, the Duke of T---, wondered if he was dreaming.

He must be dreaming, for how else could he have run away from the ball with a complete stranger, escaping like a pair of fugitives into the night? 

They had bolted out of the French windows in the drawing room like some common robbers and traipsed through the gardens. Behind them, the mansion appeared to degenerate into chaos. 

“What on earth is happening,” Eddy exclaimed as he took a glance back. Under the dim garden lights, he could just make out Lady C’s servants rushing out those same windows, seemingly hot in pursuit. 

“The stupid old man’s after me!”

“Who? And why?”

“I’ll tell you later!” cried the boy. He grasped Edward’s hand tight and ran faster. It occurred to neither of them at the time that there was no need for Edward to run along with him. 

  
  
  


It was now later. They had run several streets and were standing in a narrow alley past Grovesnor Square that was empty and silent, save for the boy’s soft pants for breath. 

Edward, alert and less winded, took a moment to straighten his coat and rearrange his cravat. It was early March, and the crisp spring air still held a trace of winter. A few icy breaths in, and he had cleared his mind. He now studied the boy curiously and tried to make sense of the bizarre situation in which he now found himself. How was it that he had ended up here, in a dark alley, with this little … person, whoever he was?

After he made quite sure that he heard nothing from the surrounding streets, he cleared his throat and began his interrogation anew. 

“Who are you?” he inquired coldly. 

The boy, who was bent over catching his breath, looked up at him in surprise, perhaps startled by his change in demeanor. “What? I...I am a mere violinist,” he replied with a guarded look. “You saw me.”

“But what is your name? And why were they chasing you?”

“Name? I hardly see the significance--”

“Your name, Sir.”

The boy hesitated and tried, “You haven’t told me yours, so I don’t see why--”

“Edward Chen, Duke of T---. Now, your name.”

“ _Duke?_ \--” He heard a sharp intake of breath from the boy, followed by a soft, _pardieu!_ The boy’s gaze flickered uncertainly towards Edward’s face. Then, quick as a flash, he turned to bolt away once more. But Edward was quicker; he grabbed the boy hard by the wrist and pulled him back. 

“ _Ouch_. _Let go_!”

“Your name.” 

The boy grit his teeth and glared at Edward from beneath his fringe but, realizing the futility of his position, sighed peevishly and replied at last, “I hardly see why you care, but if you must know, my name’s Bretta … Brett. Brett?”

“Is that a question? Don’t you know your own name” Edward asked, with a cool raise of his brow. He felt just the barest hint of amusement, despite his best efforts to remain aloof. He could almost see the wheels turning in the boy’s head, as he tried to weasel his way out of this. “What are you trying to hide, Sir? Have you committed a crime?”

“ _No._ I have committed no crime. I was merely nervous. My name is Brett … Smith,” said the boy, squaring his shoulders in a valiant attempt to appear persuasive. “And now, Your Grace, if you just release me, I can explain.”

“You shall explain first, and then I will decide whether to release you, Mr. … _Smith_.” 

The boy sighed again, as if Edward were the one trying his patience, but said, “Very well. Here is the truth. I am a violinist, as you saw just now, and I was hired to perform at Lady C’s ball tonight with my quartet. There, I had just finished playing the piece when I happened to spot my … er … nemesis in the crowd. Yes, my nemesis, who has designs _on_ _my life_. So naturally, I fled.”

“Your nemesis?” the Duke repeated. “Your nemesis infiltrated Lady C’s ball to take your life?” 

“Precisely,” replied the boy with a solemn nod. He added, in an ominous voice. “He is a dark figure of the London underworld, Your Grace. And I … erm … I inadvertently seduced his beautiful mistress with my … enchanting violin playing? Yes. And that is why he is now after my life. You understand?” 

Edward rolled his eyes heavenward. Of all lies, he hadn’t expected the boy spin _such_ a farfetched one. “And what is the name of your nemesis, pray tell?”

“That is not important.”

“I will be the judge--”

“Your Grace, what _is_ important is that I have made the grave mistake of involving you this evening. I realize now that I should not have and had no reason to drag you out with me. I must have lost my mind in the face of danger. I do apologize for ruining your night, but I don’t think anyone saw you, so if you just release me, I …” 

The boy paused. There was a sudden flash of cunning in his dark eyes, which Edward found that he didn’t much. It caused a shiver to run down his spine. He wondered if perhaps he should not have embarked upon the interrogation at all. What had any of this to do with him? He should have just let this lying little urchin go.

“Actually, a thought just struck,” the boy said slowly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Have you considered the fact, Your Grace, that fate has brought us together?”

“What?”

“That fate has brought us together this evening, and since you are so reluctant to release me, I have decided that you may as well keep me!”

The Duke’s eyes widened. He released the boy’s wrist at once, as if burned. “Pardon, Mr. Smith?”

The boy appeared unfazed. Seemed more determined than ever, in fact, from the glint in his eye. “Yes, for you see, my nemesis must have captured my friends by now--the ones in the quartet, whose lodgings I was to share. Clearly, I cannot share those lodgings anymore, for my nemesis would surely have them searched. But he would not think to search a _Duke’s_ home. Your Grace, don’t you see? You are my only option now. So you may keep me. Indeed, you _must_.”

“N-no. You are quite mistaken, Mr. Smith. I have absolutely no wish to take you in. Indeed I have half a mind to report you to the authorities--”

“What for? Fleeing from a ball is no crime, and even if it were, your Grace is now implicated. Surely you wouldn’t care for a scandal. Besides, Your Grace would not force a lady--er, a lad--a young lad like myself to wander the streets so late? You keep a house in town, I gather?”

“Why yes, of course, but I certainly will not--”

“It is very late. I have no money, and I am very tired. I need only one night to get my bearings, and you shall be rid of me first thing tomorrow.” The boy took Edward’s hand again and peered up at him with sparkling eyes that were strangely bewitching. (Perhaps he _had_ seduced the mistress, after all?) “Please? Do say yes.”

Edward swallowed heavily. 

He wondered whether he was still in a dream after all, because his world felt as if it were spinning out of control, and he somehow found himself saying, “Just one night, you say?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The clock struck midnight. The servants had gone to bed and all was quiet in the elegant townhouse of the Duke of T--. Not a soul witnessed two figures creeping stealthily up the stairs and into the Duke’s own bedroom. The taller of the two ushered the shorter one in and quickly shut the door. 

“Phew, we made it,” said the shorter one with a breath of relief. “Although, I find it strange that Your Grace has to creep into your own home like an intruder. Tell me, are you actually the Duke?”

Edward Chen, who was certainly the real Duke, grew red and sputtered, “You--how dare--Mr. _Smith_ \--I behoove you to recall just why I am forced to creep into my own home! If not for you, if not for your inexplicable desire for secrecy--”

The boy waved his hand casually to interrupt. “I jest, Your Grace. Pray calm yourself. You will awaken your whole household. Now, here is what we shall do. We shall go to sleep promptly and tomorrow, when you open your eyes, I will be gone.”

Edward took a few deep breaths and forced himself to level out of his voice. One cannot stoop to the level of a lying urchin. “Very well, Mr. Smith. You may take the armchair. I look forward to your departure.” 

Mostly, he looked forward to resuming life as he’d known it, before this little hiccup. Perhaps he will wake up tomorrow and discover it all to be a nightmare.

“The armchair?”

“Or the floor, your choice.”

“But you don’t mean to say that we’ll be sleeping in the _same room_? I had thought I might take a guest room...”

“Certainly, if you want to alert the servants to your presence, then by all means,” the Duke replied, his patience beginning to wear thin. He walked to his bed and tugged irritably at his cravat. 

“W-wait, what are you doing? You can’t--are you taking off your _coat_? Put that back on!”

Edward, who was indeed in the process of shrugging off his jacket, stopped mid-motion and glanced at the boy in bewilderment. “What on earth are you going on about, Mr. Smith? You needn’t cover your eyes. I am merely undressing for bed. And I am forced to do it myself because I cannot summon my valet! In any event, I suggest you do the same, and quickly.” 

But the boy, “Brett,” ignored Edward. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and moaned, “Oh, what have I done. If anyone should hear of this, I will have no prospects. My father will … But it’s too late anyway. I was ruined from the moment I escaped … ”

“Ruined?”

“No, nothing. I suppose we have no choice but to share this room,” the boy replied bleakly. “I have made my bed and now I must lie in it. Or armchair, I suppose.” Then, with a more hopeful look on his rounded face, he asked, “Although, Your Grace, might I suggest that the more gallant thing to do would be for you to offer your guest the bed?” 

Edward replied with a cold glare.

“All right, all right. I overstep. I’ll take the armchair. I shan’t undress. Good night.” 

With a small pout, the boy curled up in the large armchair, faced away from Edward, and fell asleep promptly.

  
  


*

  
  


Edward had more trouble. He was a thinker by nature and often had trouble sleeping even on a normal night. But with the added excitement of fleeing a ball and now harboring a fugitive in his bedroom, he found sleep particularly elusive, and continued staring into the dark until the wee hours of the morning. 

Every so often, he would glance over at his “guest,” to make sure he was behaving himself and not, for example, about to pull a knife out to stab Edward in his sleep. 

Of course, the likelihood that this young boy was a hardened criminal appeared slim. Hardened criminals didn’t play the violin like that. Hardened criminals didn’t possess such pretty hands, which had clearly never seen a day of hard labor. No, Edward had every reason to suspect that the boy was from a good family. But then why…?

He glanced at the boy again, unable to allay his curiosity. He was still sleeping, curled up innocently in the armchair like a stray cat. 

Edward sighed softly.

There was a secret to Edward Chen that he kept well-hidden from London high society. Beneath his reserved exterior, he had a terribly soft heart and a terribly good nature and was terribly inept at saying no when confronted by small creatures in distress. 

“It’s just one for one night,” he told himself. “Tomorrow, he shall be gone.” 

  
  


*

Tomorrow arrived with a barrage of suspicious rustling noises. Disoriented, Edward bolted up from his bed and shouted, “Who goes there?”

A rounded head peeked out from his closet and exclaimed, “Good day, Your Grace!”

Edward blinked slowly. But why was there a stranger in his closet? 

“It’s me, Brett. You brought me home last night, you remember?” the stranger prompted with a bright smile. 

Too bright for these early hours. Edward groaned. 

“Yes, unfortunately. A terrible mistake,” he mumbled, settling back against the pillows, subsumed by regret. “But why are you still here? You were to be gone when I opened my eyes.”

“Well, yes, but you see, I didn’t think I could run around London in my evening clothes, especially if people are out looking for an escaped violinist. I would be caught immediately.”

“And therefore…”

“And therefore, I’m borrowing _your_ clothes,” the boy declared with a cheeky smile. “You seem to have a lot, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I--”

“They’re honestly too big for me and not as fashionable as I would have expected for a Duke, but I suppose they’ll do for now. By the way, if you are awake, might you leave the room while I change?”

Edward inhaled deeply to fight the urge to scream. He succeeded just barely. “Listen here, you little cretin,” he growled through gritted teeth, “You do _not_ have my permission to parade around in my clothes! And you certainly cannot kick me out of my own room. You are to leave at once--”

There was a soft knock on the door. 

“Your Grace? Is everything … all right?”

Edward exhaled in exasperation. Brett, half-hiding in the closet now, blinked at him innocently. 

“Everything is just fine. I shall take breakfast downstairs.” He turned to Brett and whispered. “And when I’m done, you had better be gone.”

“Yessir.”

*

Edward felt a pair of eyes on him all through breakfast, suspicious and probing. It was bringing about the onset of a headache. 

“Yes, Shaun? Have you something you wish to say?”

“Nothing.”

“All right then.”

“...”

“...”

“Well, one thing.” Shaun cleared his throat delicately, or as delicately as a man of his size could. “It sounded as if you were speaking to someone just now, in your bedroom?”

“Not at all,” said Edward nonchalantly. He pretended not to see the incredulity on his butler’s face. “You must have been hallucinating.” 

“Indeed?”

“Just give me my paper, Shaun. You must have other things you need to do.”

“My main job is to serve you, so--”

“Just go.”

Shaun frowned--the look of a man deprived of his gossip--and sidled out with a disappointed sigh. Edward rolled his eyes and turned his gaze to the front page of the Times. 

And while it should have been difficult to focus on the words, with his mind half dwelling on the boy wreaking havoc in his room, the headlines immediately caught his attention. 

  
  


**ESCAPED VIOLIN THIEF**

_Two nights ago, on 1 March, 18--, a vile villain broke into the home of Baron P--- and made away with his priceless violin, a 1695 Stradivarius. The thief was last spotted at Lady C’s ball which took place last night, on 2 March, performing as part of a quartet. The thief escaped through the gardens and is still at large. Anyone with information should contact this paper at …._

Directly below the headline was a portrait of a person who looked suspiciously like Brett. 

Edward’s heart thumped nervously. Good lord, so he _was_ harboring a criminal. And one who had stolen something so valuable! To think he had believed the boy came from a good family! The Duke stood abruptly from his chair and began to pace around the room. The boy would be far gone now, no doubt. Which would make him an accomplice to the crime! But perhaps it wasn’t too late. If he sent out a search party right now, he might still have a chance at capturing--

His thoughts were once again interrupted by a knock at the door, and Shaun’s hesitant, “Your Grace? May I come in? I found … something in Your Grace’s room.”

“No. Well, yes. Yes, come in.” 

The door opened, and Shaun entered. He held in his big hand one sheepish looking Brett by the scruff of his collar. 

“Your Grace,” he said dryly. “I seem to have discovered an intruder.”

Edward stared at the pair of them, speechless. Brett gave Edward a chagrined smile. “Hello again.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So you _are_ a thief!” 

Edward pointed an accusing finger at Brett. Uncharacteristically, he had lost his usual tranquility. His whole person buzzed with intense agitation, and his gentle eyes flashed with anger at Brett’s unexpected betrayal. 

The effect was lost on Brett, who was busy helping himself to another buttered roll. “Is he always so prone to drama?” he inquired of Shaun between bites. “It seems contrary to the general British temperament.”

“No, His Grace is usually quite calm. I am not sure what’s gotten into him this morning--”

“ _Shaun_!”

“Your Grace?"

Two pairs of eyes landed on the Duke--one sparkling with feigned innocence and the other brimming over with amusement. Edward breathed out shakily. He was beginning to feel once more that he was losing his grasp on reality.

And just moments ago, he was so sure he would force the boy to fess up the truth.

That was when Shaun had first deposited the small, protesting urchin in the room. 

“How would you like me to handle this, Your Grace?”

“One moment…”

Though Edward would have liked to commence the interrogation in private, he knew it would be impossible. There was no hiding calamity from one’s own butler, especially when one’s butler was a notorious scandalmonger like Shaun.

He thus turned to Brett forthwith and demanded, “Mr. Smith, what is your relationship to the Baron P---?”

The words had an immediate effect on the boy, who muted his protests and turned pale with fright. In a weak voice, he stuttered, “How did you know…?”

As far as Edward was concerned, that was as good as an admission of guilt. He tossed the papers angrily before Brett. “It’s all there. See for yourself. That is your portrait, is it not, Sir?”

White as a sheet, the boy retrieved the paper with shaking fingers and began to read. “But that is indeed my portrait…” he whispered. There could be no denying it; placed next to the boy’s face, it was clear as day that the portrait could be of no one else. 

Edward watched the thief carefully now, his mind racing. They would certainly have to go to the authorities; there was no avoiding it. Perhaps Shaun could haul the boy there...or perhaps they would send a runner…? But first, they must restrain him. 

He made eyes at Shaun, who seemed to have caught on and who made eyes back. Yet, just before he pulled the trigger, an odd thing happened. Under Edward’s watchful gaze, the boy appeared to recover himself as he perused the rest of the column. Indeed, at one point, he even chuckled out loud. 

“Vile thief indeed,” he muttered with a bright laugh. 

“You find your crime amusing, perhaps?” Edward remarked dryly. 

“Quite! You know, I did take the violin, obviously, but the rest of it is just silly. In any event, I’m glad the old man had enough sense to hide the truth, or else we’d both be ruined,” said the boy. 

He looked quite at ease, now that he’d finished reading the papers, and after handing them back to a befuddled Edward, he took a seat at the table without asking permission. “Say, I’m awfully hungry. And now that you’ve detained me again, perhaps you might offer me some sustenance. Might I have a roll or two?”

Edward, who was about to ask him what he meant by ‘the truth,’ could manage no more than a stunned stare. “A roll you say?”

“Or two. And perhaps your butler could fetch me another cup of tea?” Brett asked, blinking beseechingly at Shaun. 

Shaun had hitherto been watching the scene unfold as a mute but intrigued spectator, drinking in every expression on his master’s face with great relish. And now, contrary to Edward’s expectations, he resumed the role of deferential servant and said, “But of course. Anything for His Grace’s guest.”

“Guest? What? Shaun--”

Shaun wore the mischievous expression of a man thoroughly entertained, and the Duke, in a very ungentlemanly fashion, cursed under his breath. Despite being in his own drawing room and being attended by his own butler, he somehow felt helpless and outnumbered…

Brett smiled at him very sweetly. “Your Grace, would you care to dine with me?”

  
  
  
  


After the little monster had demolished half the food on the table, he let out a satisfied sigh and turned his attention back to Edward, who had been fuming in silence for so long that his face had turned quite red. Brett looked as if he might giggle at this sight, but just managed to restrain himself upon receiving Edward’s harsh glare. 

“The truth is this,” he said finally.

“As you know, I am a violinist, and it is my greatest dream to perform as a soloist with an orchestra. The best orchestra in England is, of course, the Royal Philharmonic Society. In a fortnight, for the very first time, they will be holding open auditions for the soloist in their very first performance of Beethoven’s violin concerto, and I must, _simply must_ , attend. It is my only chance and I must seize it. 

Now, as to the violin, it is in fact a gift from the Baron to myself. I had not stolen it, as it rightfully belongs to me. I cannot provide you the full explanation just now, but rest assured that no crime has been committed. I can tell you all after the audition, but you must wait until then.”

For the first time since they met, the boy spoke solemnly to Edward and with an unusual degree of earnestness. 

“No crime has been committed? How do I know you’re not lying?” Edward asked stiffly. “Am I just to take your word for it then?”

“On my honor, Your Grace, I swear it--”

“Your honor means nothing to me, Mr. _Smith._ ”

A wounded expression flickered across the boy’s face. He bit his lower lip, which now trembled dangerously. “Fine,” he whispered, voice soft and sincere and just the tiniest bit pitiful. “That’s fair. But understand, _please_ , that I must attend the audition. You can do with me as you please thereafter, turn me over to the authorities or the Baron. But if you do so now I shall lose my only chance forever and my life will amount to nothing! So, please, won’t you wait…”

The boy stared at Edward imploringly, his expression a mixture of fear and hope that could hardly be feigned. _Please_ , his shining eyes seemed to say, as they bored into Edward’s soul. 

Edward glanced away uncomfortably. He turned towards Shaun, who lurked dutifully to the side, and silently sought his help. 

Shaun shrugged with high impertinence. _All you, Your Grace_ , his eyes seemed to say.

“Well, I...I...I hardly know...” Edward began, his resolve beginning to waver. 

As Edward’s hesitant stutter lapsed into silence, he heard the sound of footsteps clipping down the corridor. Shaun must have heard too, for he suddenly stood to attention. But it was too late. The doors to the drawing room swung open, and there stood the Dowager Duchess.

  
  
  
  


“ _Edward_ , darling! I’ve been searching for you everywhere!” exclaimed the lady as she bustled into the room. “You simply disappeared last night. And wherever are your servants? I have been waiting for an eternity. Oh, Shaun, there you are. You really must do something about the footman, poor Edward is far too gentle, but the man is never at his post, and I had to let myself in, to think!”

Before anyone could say anything, her eyes landed on Brett.

“Well!” she cried, taken aback. “And who might this be! Edward, surely it is too early for morning calls…”

She stared sharply at Brett, eyes full of suspicion. And under that unyielding gaze of the wily old Duchess, Brett appeared to have run out of yarn to spin; he glanced at the Duke nervously. 

“Mother, I wasn’t expecting you…”

The Duchess turned on her son with a frown. “Darling, what _are_ you going on about, I call on you every morning. Now, won’t you introduce me to this young man?”

“I...He…” Edward hesitated for a moment--Brett was still staring at him with those shining, pleading eyes--then took a deep breath and resigned himself to the inevitable. “He is the cousin of Harrington. You remember him, Mother. We were at Oxford together--”

“The Earl’s younger son? The eccentric who has run off to Greece to chase after Lord Byron, never to be seen again?”

“The very same. In any event, his cousin, Mr. Brett … Smith, is visiting from-from--”

“--From France,” Brett chimed in, no longer tongue-tied now that he knew Edward would not expose him. He grinned and gave the Duchess a charming bow. “ _Bonjour, Madame la Duchesse,_ _enchanté_!”

“--from France, Mother--”

“-- _oui oui--_ ”

“Harrington has begged that I look after him while he’s in London, and as I owe him a favor from our school days... Mr. Smith arrived late last night. In fact, I’d quite forgotten about this, and that was why I left the ball in a hurry. But in any event, here he is now…”

The Duchess's suspicion did not lesson. She looked Brett up and down--sizing up his ill-fitting evening dress perhaps--and uttered a cold, “I see. How do you do, Mr. Smith. Although I must say, this is highly unorthodox--”

“And Mr. Smith is just settling into his room,” Edward continued. “Shaun is helping him--Shaun, perhaps you could just--”

“Ah yes, Mr. Smith, please follow me.”

“Wait just a moment--” the Duchess began to protest, but no one paid her any mind. Brett bowed to her again and bid her _adieu_ as he trotted out after the butler. 

“Now, Mother,” said Edward, “what is it that you had come here to say? Is it about the picnic tomorrow afternoon…”

“The picnic, certainly, but about Mr. Smith--”

“Will Lady Elizabeth be there?”

“Oh! But yes, she will! Has she piqued your interest, darling………..”

  
  


* * *

“Thank you,” said Brett. 

Edward didn’t deign to respond. Collapsed against the carriage seat, he was too tired to even muster a glare at the boy. He could only hope that after this, he would be rid of the little demon forever. 

It was mid-afternoon and the Dowager Duchess had finally departed, still curious about the mysterious Mr. Smith but willing to let it go upon extracting from Edward a promise that he would attend the picnic the next day _and_ walk with Lady Elizabeth. After she was out of sight, Edward quickly summoned Brett and ushered him into the carriage before anyone could see them, and they now clipped quickly along the streets towards St. James’s.

“You can drop me off at the corner there, in a bit. Where are you off to though, Monsieur le Duc?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Smith, but I shall be going to my club. It has been a very trying day, I’m sure you understand,” Edward responded coldly. 

Brett clucked with sympathy. “Quite. For me as well. But do make sure you send the carriage back. I shall only be a minute.”

It took Edward a moment to process this. His eyes grew large. “Whatever do you mean? I thought you were going to your cousin’s. Your real cousin, if indeed anything about you is real. What do you need my carriage for?”

“To see my cousin, yes, but only to retrieve my music and some clothing. I can’t stay with him. The Baron knows about him and will certainly come searching, and now that my face is plastered all over the papers... No, I gave it some thought while you were speaking with your mother, and I do believe it would be safest to stay with you, until the audition. It is only a fortnight away, and no one would dare question my identity if I stand beside a Duke. Not to worry--I told Shaun already and he is having my room prepared as we speak.”

“What the deuce--”

“Besides, you told la Duchesse that you would be looking after me whilst I’m in London. She would find it highly odd if I were to disappear just now.”

“But I--”

“No good deed goes unpunished, Your Grace, hasn’t anyone ever taught you that?” Brett asked with a twinkle in his eye. He rapped on the door to signal for Albert to stop the carriage. “Don’t trouble yourself--I’ll tell Albert to come back for me. Good afternoon, Duke. I shall see you at home this evening.”

With that, Brett descended from the vehicle and disappeared into the London streets, leaving Edward speechless in his wake.

  
  


***

Lady Brettany Yang stood still for a moment, observing her surroundings with quick, furtive glances. Only upon confirming that no one watched her did she dart towards a modest brick house to the side of the road and knock. With her ear pressed to the door, she heard faint steps draw near and a boyish voice ask, “Who goes there?”

“Jordon, it’s me! Let me in,” she whispered. 

“Bretty? Oh, thank goodness!” 

The door opened for only a split second to let the lady in, then shut again promptly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their video today was soooo good, but a little heavy, so I wanted to update something fun. Hope you are doing well and that you find something to brighten your day in these hectic times :) 
> 
> xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, so make sure you read ch. 3 first :))

“Well, dear Bretty, you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time. Gave me a fright last night, you did.”

Bretty waved off Jordon’s concern carelessly.

Seated in her cousin's familiar, cozy tearoom and chomping into a plate of cucumbers sandwiches, her recent adventures receded into the background, like some strange dream, and she again began to feel at ease. Across the table, Jordon watched her with faint amusement, although, having recovered from his initial shock and worry, he had more or less reverted back to his usual state of nonchalance. 

“But I did warn you it would be dangerous to show your face in public. If you’d just stayed here, no one would be any the wiser,” he chided gently as he took a sip of tea. 

“Oh bother. How was I to know that the old man would attend a ball the very night his only child disappears? It’s coldblooded, really. Besides, you’re the one who told me you were missing a violinist for your quartet and so really, it was you who tempted me into doing it. You know I could never resist an opportunity to perform.”

“Very well, I’ll admit that I’m partly to blame. But tell me, cousin, where have you been?”

Brettany didn’t respond straight away, and there was a shadow of doubt in her eye as she debated whether to disclose the unsavory truth. That she’d shared a room with a man, alone, was information she wanted to lock away forever. But then again, this was Jordon, her dear confidante, her strange young cousin who harbored the demeanor and habits of an eccentric old dame. They’d been as close as siblings since childhood, and he’d never judged her for anything. 

She cleared her throat and said, “Well, of course I can tell you, but I imagine you would hardly believe me …”

And indeed, in an almost unprecedented show of surprise, Jordon’s brows jumped up his forehead as Brettany recounted her journey after her escape from Lady C’s mansion.

“Bretty!” he exclaimed, after she finished her tale. 

" _Très merveilleux, n’est-ce pas_? A story for a lifetime,” Brettany replied, with a show of lightheartedness. 

“Well, it’s certainly something...So you mean to tell me seriously that you spent a night in Duke Edward’s room? The two of you, man and woman,  _ alone _ ?”

“...Yes…”

“And you mean to go back and  _ live _ with him? Tell me my ears deceive me, cousin.”

“What choice do I have? Besides, I won’t be living in his room.”

Jordon's lips twitched as he struggled to find words. In any other circumstance, Brettany might have laughed; it was not often that one found Jordon speechless. But now, in these particular circumstances that were not quite ordinary... Finally, Jordon ventured, “This is all rather scandalous. If anyone should find out...”

Bretty frowned. That was undoubtedly true. If everything she had done in the past twenty-four hours were not enough to end her marriage prospects, not to mention her reputation in society, living with the Duke for a fortnight ought to do it.

“It’s all right, Jordon,” she said, with as much confidence as she could muster. “No one knows my true identity, and after the audition...well, I haven’t thought that far, but I’ll come up with something, I’m sure. What did you tell my father?”

“What we had agreed: that you’re fleeing back to France.”

“And he believed you?”

“It appeared so. I’m a convincing liar when I want to be, and he’s always trusted me. He himself has left town for Dover. But I suspect he may have someone watching me.”

“I dare say someone is watching. The Duke’s carriage is coming back for me presently though, and I’m sure whoever it is wouldn’t recognize me, nor would they dare approach. I’d better gather my things now. You’ll let me borrow your clothes, won’t you?”

Jordon looked at Brettany with renewed concern. With slow hesitance, he remarked, “Why not just go home now, Bretty? Your father is stern, but kind to you, and you must be breaking his heart. I know you’re whimsical, and I know your abhor the shackles of marriage, but is this all worth it? All for an audition? And besides, what are you going to do if they select you to perform? Do you intend to masquerade as a boy forever?”

The young lady gave him a forlorn smile. “Oh, Jordon, I haven’t the faintest clue. Only, life’s short, and I won’t know unless I try. If I win the audition, there’s still a chance for me. I’ll have proven myself as a violinist and maybe I can talk Papa around. But if I debut now and put myself up for matrimony, then it’s all over. I want to at least give myself a chance. You understand, don’t you?”

Jordon shook his head ruefully. He didn’t understand, truth be told, but he knew that once his headstrong cousin had decided on something, there would be no talking her out of it. 

“And the Duke, you’re sure he won’t expose you?” he queried, in a last-ditched attempt to make her see sense. “Even setting aside everything else, he has no reason to help you, a complete stranger, and every reason to turn you in. And everyone in London knows that he’s positively coldblooded.”

At the mention of the Duke, Brettany’s smile brightened again. The only good to come out of all this was that she had found the most pliable human being she’d ever met in her life. The thought of the way that young man yielded helplessly to her outlandish demands brought a giggle to her lips. 

“Bah, he’s a lamb. Soft as pudding. They’ve got it all wrong. Don’t you worry about him.”

Jordon rolled his eyes heavenward. “You’re too innocent, cousin. I’d be careful if I were you. Men, even those who appear as lambs at first blush, often conceal a wolf within. Especially a handsome, intelligent young man in his prime, like the Duke. You never know when that wolf might spring upon you.”

“Handsome, intelligent man!” Brettany sneered. “Please, Jordon. More like mummy’s little boy.” She consumed the last of her sandwich and stood from the table. “No, the more I think about it, the more I believe I shall be just fine, my dear cousin. Now, help me pack my things. I must make haste.”

*

Duke Edward Chen spent his afternoon at White’s Club, as was his routine. Unaware that he was presently being insulted as mummy’s little boy, he was perched stiffly in his usual armchair, wearing a deep, sullen frown as he reflected on the fact that he had somehow allowed Albert to go back and retrieve the boy from wherever they had dropped him, thereby implicitly acquiescing to the boy’s prolonged stay in his home. 

Why on earth had he done that?

Why had he done any of the things he’d done in the past day? All of it was utterly bizarre, and nothing could account for his behavior.

He stewed in these thoughts for some time, his eyes cloudy and turbulent. 

Beside him sat his good friend Ray Chen, the Marquess of W--. The Marquess was sipping elegantly at a glass of sherry as he studied his friend with interest. Presently, he could contain his curiosity no more and he asked Edward, “Is something the matter? You’ve been frowning for the past two hours. The effect is awfully gloomy.”

Edward sighed. “No. Nothing’s the matter.”

“Just one of those days, eh?” Ray remarked cheerfully, which was funny coming from Ray, as Edward was sure the other man had never had ‘one of those days’ in his life. “Perhaps a good glass of port would help?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then perhaps we play a game of whist?”

“Perhaps.”

“And then what say you to taking a turn about Hyde’s Park on your new horses? The ladies will love those beauties. And shall we then go to the Opera? The newest soprano is quite lovely, would you not agree…”

Edward’s frown deepened as Ray spoke. So there it was. Drinks, gambling, and women, on the one hand; balls, dinners, and frivolous picnics on the other. Was there nothing more to life than that? Nothing more than meaningless diversions to fill the empty hours? He stood abruptly from his chair. 

“No.”

“No? What do you mean? And where are you going?”

“Home. I bid you good evening.”

  
  
  
  


Edward exited the club and walked home on foot. The skies had just darkened and the lamplighters were making their rounds, brightening the chilly London streets with a warm, yellow glow. All around Edward bustled an assortment of other people and carriages. It was, in short, an evening like any other, but Edward felt mired in sudden discontent. 

The root of such discontent, he suspected, was the boy, the boy who had come crashing into his life, unbidden, and who said, so sincerely, that he dreamt of being a soloist who could perform with an orchestra. 

Edward scoffed lightly to himself. Dreams? Dreams were reserved for children in the nursery. Grown men had no business contemplating dreams. Did the boy take him for a fool?

And yet, even as he thought this, he heard another voice in his head--the voice of his father, who had once told him, on a chilly evening similar to this one, that he should pursue his passions. 

_ Our lives are short, Edward, best not waste it. _

Life was indeed short; his father passed away not long thereafter, and all of the responsibilities of the family fell upon him. 

He sighed softly and murmured to himself, “The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.” And here he was, squandering it all.

  
  
  


At the threshold of his gate, Edward suddenly paused. He had been thinking unpleasant thoughts his entire walk and was beginning to feel rather morose. Now though, his attention was captured by a beautiful melody emanating from within, the sound of a solitary violin singing out notes of hope and joy that soothed Edward’s discontent like a balm.

He listened silently and without moving. For the first time that evening, his spirits lifted and a faint smile touched his face. The life of man was not so terrible after all, when filled with music.

It was only some moments later that he realized he knew this melody; that he had heard it a million times in his head, but never performed on a violin. 

The Duke’s brows furrowed and he entered his home with great displeasure in his countenance.

*

“You like the piece?” Edward asked coldly.

He leaned against the entrance to the drawing room, his gaze ice cold as it landed on the little thief. 

Brett, who had just paused his playing to study the score, glanced up in surprise. “Ah, you’re back! I thought your servants would announce you! Now tell me, do you know where the rest of this score...is...?” His speech slowed as he took note of Edward’s solemn demeanor. He felt, instinctively, that something was different this time; it made him nervous. 

Edward strode over and whisked the music out from under Brett’s nose. “Hasn’t anyone taught you not to rifle through other people’s belongings. Though, I suppose, that is precisely what thieves do, and this is just further punishment for agreeing to shelter you.”

“Oh! Well, I...I’m sorry...I did not know...that is, I saw the sheets lying on the piano and I was curious,” Brett stuttered, taken aback by Edward’s unexpected ire. “It is special to you, this music?”

“That is no business of yours, Mr. Smith. If you must impinge upon me in this manner, then I must beg you to stay in your room and keep out of my belongings!”

Brett paled at Edward’s harsh tone and he bit his lower lip in consternation. For once, he had no retort, as he knew he was in the wrong. 

“I do apologize,” he tried, head bowed. “I did not know you were coming home so soon, and I did not mean to… I shall go now. And, you must believe me, I  _ am _ sorry.” 

There was a wobble in his voice, and his hands shook perceptibly as he packed his violin back in its case. Edward could discern that the boy, though he had been nothing but trouble thus far, was now earnestly abashed and remorseful. 

His gaze softened. Perhaps he was being unnecessarily petty. After all, Brett couldn’t have known. With a growing sense of guilt, he took a seat on the sofa and watched Brett’s hunched figure scurry from the room. Just before Brett broached the exit, however, he cleared his throat and said, “The music...I suppose it _is_ special to me, in a way. I composed it.”

Brett skid to a stop and turned to him in surprise. 

“You composed it, Duke?”

“Yes, for my late father. He loved music and, as he was feeling unwell, I thought a joyful piece such as this may bring him peace."

“...The piece is very beautiful. He must have loved it…”

“He never heard it. I did not finish in time.”

“I’m sorry.”

Edward shook his head with a melancholic smile. Brett studied him for a moment in silence, then approached with soft, small steps and carefully took a seat beside him. 

“Will you finish it now?” 

“No. I shan’t. He’s already gone and I have other things I must do.”

Brett watched him, his shining dark eyes unusually serious, and said nothing.

“In any event, composing was just a hobby,” Edward continued, more to himself than to Brett. “It would be silly to devote more time to it, when there are things far more befitting a Duke I must do.”

“More befitting a Duke? Such as?”

“Well, there’s the whole estate run now, and investments to manage. Balls and picnics to attend, a wife to find. I must look after my mother, and my widowed sister, and soon, I shall join parliament too, to devote myself to King and country. So you see? There’s no time. And of course, Dukes cannot be serious composers. That would be unbefitting for a gentleman.” 

Again, Brett simply watched him, and the two of them fell into a short, wistful silence. 

Then, Brett said, “I also lost someone dear to me recently. My grandmother. She passed away earlier this year.”

Edward gazed at him with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Mostly because she died with many regrets. She was a grand old lady, you know, and always did things befitting her station in life. No one could ever fault her for anything and everyone looked up to her. Only of course, in exchange, she gave up a lot too. Her passions, dreams, love …She could have been a great musician too, but as you say, Your Grace, that would hardly be befitting of a lady.”

“Indeed...”

“It is my birthday today, Your Grace.”

“Is it?” asked Edward, with some surprise. “Happy birthday, Mr. Smith.”

“Thank you. I turn 21. And you may think I’m just a foolish little violinist, but I keep thinking to myself that if I only did the things I ought to instead of the things I want to, I too may die with many regrets after living a long, empty life. Grandmama had whisked me off to France to protect me, but now she’s gone, and it occurred to me that life waits for no one. At twenty-one, I may as well take fate in my own hands. And thus, here I am, impinging upon you!”

Brett’s insolent pronouncement drew a small chuckle from Edward. “So you are…”

“Which is all to say you can certainly continue devoting your time to things you find befitting a Duke, or you can simply chose to do what you want. And if what you want is to compose the rest of this piece, and many others thereafter, then I beseech you to just do it,” Brett finished with a bright grin.

Edward glanced at him contemplatively and murmured, “Just do it...huh...”

“ _ Oui!  _ You may just be surprised by the results, Monsieur le Duc.”

Brett’s wonderful, shining eyes drew another laugh from Edward, and he had half a mind to reach over and ruffle the hair on that rounded head. From where did such a small person gain such great courage, he wondered? 

“I shall have to think about it…”

“Thought is often the enemy of action. 

“Ah.”

“Do you like that? I made it up just now.”

“You’re absurd, is what you are…...”

  
  
  
  


Just then, in the well-timed way of experienced butlers, Shaun ambled in and declared that dinner was ready.

“Thank you, Shaun. I shall dress and be there shortly. Mr. Smith, I assume you will need some time as well…”

Shaun followed them out of the room. As they walked, he added, “I am told that the cook has managed to secure a last minute cake from Gunter’s to celebrate Mr. Smith’s birthday.”

“A cake!” Brett exclaimed, greatly cheered. “Why, I hardly expected that. You must thank the Antoine for me.”

Shaun glanced at Edward with a look that Edward didn’t much like.

“They were surprised of course, since they thought it was for the Duke, and His Grace’s birthday is not for three more weeks.”

“So soon! We share the same birth month, how marvelous. And how old will you be turning this year, Duke? You’re older than me, I’d reckon.”

“I--”

“Oh no, Mr. Smith. His Grace is only twenty this year.”

“No--”

“ _ Twenty?! _ ” Brett exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise. _ “ _ Why, but that means…that means I’m older!”

“Yes, it would appear so,” said Shaun.

Edward groaned, and Shaun’s innocent smile drew a sharp glare. But what was the use? It was too late. Blast the man. 


	5. Chapter 5

March the fourth was resplendent with sunshine and all the young ladies in Mayfair were in a tizzy over the picnic that was to take place. And never mind that picnics took place every other day; they had it on good authority the  _ Duke  _ would be attending this one. They must therefore don their most elegant gowns and dress their hair in the most fashionable manner. If anyone should catch his eye, her life would be complete. The stakes were high.

Meanwhile, the Duke himself was sitting in his drawing room, reclining in an armchair and sipping leisurely on a cup of tea. If he was concerned about the picnic, he did not show it. 

Some two feet away was Brett Smith, drawing out the brilliant melody of Beethoven on his priceless violin. 

It was a peaceful, harmonious scene. They had reconciled their differences (or, as Shaun might say, the Duke had succumbed to full resignation), and they were now just two young men bonding over their love of music. 

Except, every once in awhile, the Duke would interrupt to say something like: “The D, it’s a bit sharp.”

“ _ Quoi? _ ”

“A bit sharp, I said. Perhaps the adjustment of your fourth finger by one millimeter would do the trick.”

“...I see. Thank you, Your Grace…”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Smith.”

Beethoven resumed. The Duke perused his morning paper. All was well. And then:

“Now, that E flat. It’s flat.”

“The E flat is flat?”

“Yes, you must sharpen the flat. I couldn’t say for sure, but I would suggest that you move your second finger up by half a millimeter. No, no, that is too much.  _ Half _ a millimeter, I said. Listen. Can’t you hear? It’s fairly obvious to me.”

“Your Grace.”

“Yes?”

“I find you……”

“Magnificent?” Duke Edward smiled in pleasure. “There’s no need. Certainly, I do believe I was born with some measure of talent, but it is also a skill I’ve honed for some years. If you’d like, I could help you train your ears--”

Mr. Smith’s brow twitched. “Insufferable, was the word I was searching for. I find you quite insufferable at times.”

The Duke’s smile disappeared. “Indeed,” he replied stiffly. “And here I thought I was rendering you a valuable service. Well, if you find me insufferable, I shall take my leave.”

He folded his paper and stood. Brett caught his arm just as he walked past and exclaimed, “Wait, stop. I’m sorry! Please don’t go yet. There’s something I must say.” The boy--or young man, to be more precise--wore a contrite expression that was not quite genuine but that just managed to assuage Edward. He paused and indicated for Brett to go on.

“I didn’t mean to offend. But as you are feeling so charitable, I was thinking that there’s a different service you might render me. That is, you play the pianoforte quite well, Shaun tells me, and I need an accompanist for the audition.”

Edward took a moment to process this. His eyes filled with disbelief. “But you don’t mean--You wish for  _ me _ to be your  _ accompanist?  _ You’re not serious, Mr. Smith?”

Brett batted his eyes innocently. “Jordon--my cousin--was to serve the role, but we cannot meet to practice as he is being watched. And as you are so talented and kind and wonderful--magnificent, even--I’m sure you will learn the piano part in no time at all. Won’t you please accompany me at the audition?”

“I’m not yours to command at will, Mr. Smith,” Edward replied with a haughty stare.

“Oh, don’t be difficult, Edward--”

“Edward?” the Duke sputtered.

“May I call you Edward?”

“You may not--”

“Oh, young Edward, won’t you please just help me with this? It would be ever so wonderful to have an accompanist for the audition. Everyone else will, I’m sure of it.”

“I decline.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

“Because I am a  _ Duke _ and  _ Dukes  _ cannot be accompanists for musicians! The mere suggestion is preposterous!”

“Oh, but my dear Edward--”

“I am not your dear Edward--”

“My dear, young Edward, we discussed this yesterday. As long as you want to do something, you should just do it--”

“I do not  _ want _ to be your accompanist, Mr. Smith. Now, do let us end this absurd dialogue. The hour is late and we must dress for the picnic.” 

It was Brett’s turn for bewilderment now and presently he asked, “We? What do you mean, we? You don’t mean that I must go too? But I couldn’t possibly. I must practice!”

“”Yes.  _ We _ have a picnic to attend, because  _ you  _ caused me to commit to attending. Now, come along.”

“No, no, but Edward--Your Grace--no, don’t drag me like that--you don’t understand--I must practice!”

*

“Your Grace, it is a beautiful day, is it not? Though a tad cold.”

The speaker was Lady Elizabeth Clifford, one of the most charming young ladies to debut that season. She had a head of flaxen curls and eyes the shade of the Brighton sea. Upon Duke Edward’s arrival at the Park, she had curtsied beautifully and, in a polite, unobtrusive manner, drew him away from the crowd. After all, the Dowager Duchess had informed her the Duke was interested, so she was only claiming her due.

She had him alone now on the bridge, and faint pink shaded her porcelain cheeks as she posed her question to her handsome companion.

Unfortunately, the Duke’s attention was elsewhere, and her question was met with dead silence. 

The lady refused to accept defeat. She turned her cerulean eye upon the peaceful pond and remarked, “And the swan, Egbert, he is magnificent, is he not? So pure, and regal, and … lovely.”

A witty, fashionable young man might have replied, _Oh, but there is someone far more lovely in my sight,_ _how can a swan compare_ , etc. The Duke was not that man. 

“Your Grace?”

Edward turned to her at last. “Yes, Miss Clifford?” he queried with cold disinterest. 

“The...I-I was just remarking on the weather. And Egbert.”

“Egbert. Who is Egbert?”

“...”

To be sure, it was not Lady Elizabeth’s fault. She was as beautiful and charming as ever. But it was hard for the Duke to focus on anything else, when presently, he spotted his unsuspecting sister approaching that known criminal, Mr. Smith, looking to make conversation. What were they saying, he wondered. Belle was no fool, but she had no reason to suppose that Brett was a thief. He stared at them through narrowed, suspicious eyes, ready to pounce to Belle’s rescue at a moment’s notice.

  
  
  
  


“Good afternoon Mr. Smith.”

Brett, who had just ingested a rather large slice of chicken, choked indelicately. He had been muddling about by himself for most of the afternoon--as none of the ladies had much interest in a small man wearing an inexpensive, ill-fitting attire--and had grown quite relaxed beneath the picnic awning with his platter of chicken and glass of lemonade. The sudden approach of Lady Belle filled him with alarm and his usual quick wits dimmed a shade.

“ _Bonjou_ r Mademoiselle,” he offered.

“Madame,” the lady corrected. “I am widowed. No, no need to offer condolences. My husband was quite old and he died from overeating, so there’s not much to mourn. In any event, I’ve got the money so that’s all that matters.”

“Oh…” Brett shot her a look of envy--really, could there be any better bargain?--which the lady mistook as surprise. 

“You are shocked by my candor?” Lady Belle asked. “Then I suppose you really are foreign to London society. In any event, I wished to introduce myself as you are lodging with my brother. I hope you are enjoying your stay in town.”

Brett observed Belle with new respect. “ _ Bien sur _ ,  _ Madame _ . Your brother, he is most warm and obliging.”

“Eddy?” Belle laughed. “You shock me, Mr. Smith. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him described as warm and obliging in my life. He is polite and respectable, nothing more. At times, he can be quite daft. You see those young ladies swarming him over there? I don’t see how they could stand him. I certainly couldn’t, if I weren’t his sister. Indeed, I suspect that if he weren’t a Duke, his marriage prospects would be hopeless.”

Brett cast his gaze towards Edward. The charming Lady Elizabeth had not managed to claim him forever, and he now stood at the foot of the bridge surrounded by a chorus of lovely young ladies. They flipped their hair this way and that and they twirled their elegant muslin gowns, but their victim was unmoved. Indeed, he looked rather helpless and seemed to be searching for ways to extricate himself. Perhaps that was why he was staring back at Brett, making bizarre faces that were difficult to read but undeniably funny. Brett snickered. 

“Well, I don’t know,” he mused absently with a fond smile. “I think he puts up a cold pretense, but is secretly quite nice beneath it all, though rather obnoxious at times. Daft, as you say. On the other hand, I think that if a young lady could see past his exterior and convince him to let down his guard, he could be quite … sweet.”

“ _ Sweet _ ?”

Belle whipped around and shot a keen gaze at Brett. It would have been odd for anyone to describe her brother as sweet, but for a young man to do so, and in that tone of voice… If before she had merely been engaging in social niceties, she now studied “Mr. Smith” in earnest, her sharp eyes roving over the small figure curiously. 

Brett’s feeling of alarm returned. He came to the belated realization that he had perhaps said too much (though he couldn’t be sure how) and now, at any moment, Lady Belle might pierce through his disguise and expose him. A cold sweat broke out over his brow.

“Er--is sweet the right word? I’ve lived abroad for some time, Madame,  _ donc je ne sais pas… _ ”

“Indeed,” said Belle. “But--”

“Belle, is everything all right?”

Thank goodness. Brett heaved a sigh of relief. The Duke had escaped his admirers and had hopped over just in time to save him from answering. 

“Of course, Eddy. Why wouldn’t everything be all right?” Belle replied lightly. 

But the danger was unabated. She was still staring at Brett, a puzzled expression upon her face, as if she had observed something that she couldn’t quite understand, or believe. “Mr. Smith, you--”

Brett didn’t like the look. He felt cornered. His brain raced. He had no choice. He exclaimed loudly, “ _ Mon dieu! _ ” 

Belle jumped in surprise, as did Edward. 

“It is my stomach!” Brett cried, keeling over dramatically. “I am in pain. Great pain, I tell you.”

Edward wiped the suspicion from his face and trotted over with concern. “Are you all right, Mr. Smith? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know!” Brett wailed, sinking to the ground. 

A crowd had begun to gather, with the young ladies floating over from the bridge like a giant pastel cloud. All observed Brett with great confusion and excitement. A few ladies fanned themselves as if they too might faint at any given moment. 

“Is he  _ dying _ ?” someone screamed.

Brett peered at Edward pitifully.

“Perhaps it’s the chicken,” Belle suggested more rationally, though she too looked worried and appeared to have forgotten her earlier line of inquiry. “I watched Mr. Smith consume an abnormal amount of chicken, and as you know, over-eating can have dire effects… Eddy, you’d best take him home.”

“Yes, yes,” Brett agreed, nodding vigorously. “Let us go home immediately.”

“Yes, I suppose we must. Can you stand?” Edward asked. 

“Er...I think so…let me try...”

“No, perhaps I’d better help you.” 

Without giving Brett time to respond, the Duke placed his arms under him and picked him right up. Brett’s eyes widened in shock, but it was too late to protest. 

“Tell mother what happened,” Edward entreated Belle. And then in a few quick strides, he was carrying Brett off and away.

  
  
  
  


“ _ Put me down, you oaf! _ ” Brett whispered harshly. 

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Smith. You’re rather light. I can at least carry you to the carriage.”

“No-no-no--you can’t just…” 

“We are almost there.” 

While they’d left the picnic party behind by now, there were a number of pedestrians strolling through the Park and they watched the Duke’s progress curiously. Face burning from embarrassment, Brett could do nothing except hide himself against Edward’s chest, hoping that no one caught sight of him. 

Fortunately, they reached the carriage soon thereafter. A surprised Albert opened the door, and Edward set Brett gently down upon the seat. “How are you feeling?” he asked, soft brown eyes filled with worry.

“I’m fine, you bloody fool. Get in here!”

Edward frowned but did as told. As he shut the door behind them, he complained, “Well, Mr. Smith, that’s hardly any way to speak to me. I was only expressing concern, and I did carry you all this way. But tell me really, how is your stomach--Oh good heavens, your face is quite red now. Are you feeling feverish? We’ll have to summon a doctor...” 

He laid a warm hand on Brett’s forehead. 

Brett’s heart stopped for a moment. His mind blanked. He could do nothing except stare, captivated by the Duke’s earnest gaze. 

In a moment though, he recovered his senses and he quickly swatted the hand away, face redder than ever. 

“I’m perfectly well,” he squawked. “I was just faking it!”

The Duke’s eyes popped open. He beheld Brett with confused silence, before exclaiming: “ _ Faking it!  _ Whatever for!”

“To get us out of there, obviously. Weren’t you looking for an escape too?”

“Oh, but--but,  _ Mr. Smith _ .”

“Oh, you needn’t look so scandalized. I saw your expression around the ladies. Pity, really--any other man would die to be in your place--but anyway, it worked, didn’t it?” A twinkle of mischief returned to Brett’s eye. “Desperate situations call for desperate measures.”

A shocked laugh tore out of Edward. “Dear God, you’re truly… I hardly know what to say… I can’t believe... You are absolutely  _ ridiculous _ , Mr. Smith.”

“I’m charming and clever, is what I am,” Brett corrected solemnly. 

Edward scoffed, and then they both broke into laughter.

  
  
  


By the time the carriage rolled into the Duke’s driveway, the conversation had taken several turns, the trials of the afternoon had melted away, and the two of them entered the townhouse side by side with amicable smiles. 

Brett had just about shaken off the embarrassment of being carried in Duke Edward’s arms...along with all the strange, foreign feelings that instilled. And the Duke, of course, thought nothing of the episode at all, except that it was all rather hilarious. He hated picnics, but he gathered that he would remember this one rather fondly.  At the foot of the stairs, he turned to bid Mr. Smith good afternoon, when suddenly, Mr Smith latched onto his sleeve.

“Oh, what is it now?” cried Edward, exasperated. “I must go change. As I was telling you, if I’m quick enough, I can still make it to the club before dinner.”

Brett cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I do believe you owe me a debt of gratitude.”

Edward glanced at Brett in confusion. “ _ I  _ owe  _ you  _ a debt of gratitude? Is it not the other way around? I am housing you?”

Brett pouted. “I got you out of the picnic and away from all those women, didn’t I? And I really, really, really, really, truly, need an accompanist. Won’t you please? You’re so smart, Edward, that it won’t take much effort at all, I’m sure.” 

Edward sighed and looked the other way. Of course, since that morning, he had had a strange premonition that he wouldn’t be getting out of this, yet he had hoped that Brett might just magically give in... And he had so been looking forward to recovering from the day with a relaxing afternoon at the club--a nice glass of sherry and a mindless chat with Ray….

Brett tugged weakly on his sleeve and repeated,  _ please _ .

“Dear God. Well, _f_ _ ine. _ ”

“Oh, you  _ are  _ marvelous, Edward!”

“I’ll thank you to stop calling me Edward.”

“Very well. You prefer Eddy, I take it?”

“ _ No! _ ”

  
  
  
  


So for the first time in a long time, Duke Edward Chen spent his afternoon at home, sitting before his piano. It was true that he continued to protest, cajole, and criticize the small violin thief he’d picked up from the streets, but careful observation revealed a rare spark of joy in his eyes, which had been missing for some time. 

Shaun wore a pleased smile as he studied the pair quietly from just beyond the door. Perhaps fate had something good in store for the young Duke after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is but this fic is honestly so fun to write XD I hope you had fun reading it~ 
> 
> (Also, will Eddy find out Brett's a girl soon? Dun dun dun)


End file.
